The Lavender Garland
by David Clark Allen
Summary: Cinderella's stepsister Anastasia is ugly and evil, right?  Well, this novel might change a few minds.  It is adapted from a story in Disney's Cinderella II: Dreams Come True, in which Anastasia finds love and changes her life.
1. Chapter 1

**The Lavender Garland**

  
Introduction.

  
"Something unique" is an understatement when describing this piece. I adapted it from the third story, "An Uncommon Romance" of Disney's _Cinderella II: Dreams Come True_. I took the whole story, transformed the characters into flesh and blood, wove my own ideas through the story like a tapestry, and the result became a teen/adult-level romantic novel! Quite a bold experiment. But I couldn't resist expanding on the theme of Cinderella's "ugly, evil stepsister" Anastasia coming to repentance, learning to love, and even becoming an object of affection.  
I had a hunch that Disney wanted to take a new look at the "ugly, evil" stepsister. My hunch was confirmed when, on March 10, 2002, they aired Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister on ABC. It, too, became a source of inspiration for this piece.

Here are the first few chapters of a story with at least 19 or 20. The rest will be added as I complete it.

My story is divided into three books. Book One is a long prologue that depicts the beginning of the Cinderella II story: Anastasia's first meeting with the Baker, with whom she falls in love.   
Book Two takes us back to Anastasia's childhood, and describes Anastasia's life up to the day she meets the Baker. This segment includes the period of Anastasia's life that takes place during the Cinderella fairy-tale everyone knows (that Disney made into a classic animated movie in 1950), this time seen from Anastasia's perspective.   
Book Three returns to where we left off in Book One. Cinderella's kindness induces Anastasia to reconsider her whole outlook on life. This, as well as her love for the Baker, inspires Anastasia to change forever. But Anastasia is not the only one who changes; many other characters are challenged to rethink their attitudes, too.

Why have another look at the evil stepsister? After all, she's evil and ugly--end of story, right? Well, maybe we shouldn't be too quick to cast stones. Or mud, for that matter . . . 

_"Me, look like a princess? Don't make me laugh!" Anastasia was despondent. She threw up her hands. "How do you get to look like a princess? How?"  
With her hand, Cinderella tilted her stepsister's chin up, and looked at her intently. "You must first become a princess inside."_

  
**THE LAVENDER GARLAND**

_ Author's note: Many of the characters and story elements in Cinderella and Cinderella II: Dreams Come True are property of Walt Disney Enterprises. The author receives no compensation whatsoever for the existence of this story, and is interested only in paying tribute and offering free publicity to the original work which inspired it._

I began writing this story March 7, 2002 and finished the first draft March 31, 2002-Easter Sunday, the day of Anastasia: a day of resurrection, rebirth, and New Hope. Coincidentally, March 31 is also the birthday of Lucille Bliss, who first gave Anastasia her voice. It is in homage to her talent that this work is dedicated.

This present edition submitted Easter Sunday, April 20, 2003.

  
BOOK ONE: The Time of Loves

  
Break forth this morn  
In roses, thou but yesterday a Thorn.  
Uplift thy head  
O pure white Lily through the winter dead.  
Beside your dams  
Leap and rejoice, you merry-making Lambs.  
All Herds and Flocks  
Rejoice, all beasts of thickets and of rocks.  
Sing, creatures, sing,  
Angels and Men and Birds and everything.  
All notes of Doves  
Fill all our world: this is the time of loves.  
--Christina Rossetti, An Easter Carol

  
CHAPTER 1

_Once upon a time in a faraway land, there was a tiny kingdom--peaceful, prosperous, and rich in romance and tradition. Here in a stately château, there lived a widowed gentleman and his little daughter, Cinderella. Although he was a kind and devoted father and gave his child every luxury and comfort, still he felt she needed a mother's care. Choosing for his second wife a woman of good family with two daughters just Cinderella's age, by name: Anastasia and Drizella . . ._

The thick, black smoke contrasted against the magenta and purple hue of the predawn sky. Smoke, which emitted from the kitchen of the old château, marked the demise of yet another attempt at a loaf of bread. Amid her muffled whimpers of frustration, a redheaded maiden desperately grabbed a towel and hurriedly yanked the ruined pastry from the oven. It looked as though this was going to be yet another disastrous morning for Anastasia Tremaine.   
For years, Anastasia had gotten used to sleeping in until noon and having her breakfast served in bed. Every morning, she would be greeted with a cheery voice and a breakfast tray of eggs, porridge, biscuits, jam, and hot tea, all prepared to perfection. Day after day. No matter how badly Anastasia or her sister Drizella treated their appointed maidservant, the cheery voice and perfect breakfast still came.  
But those days had come to an abrupt end eighteen months ago, when their maidservant went and married Prince Charming.  
"Cinderella is just so lucky," Anastasia whimpered under her breath. "Oh, her and her little feet!"  
Anastasia had never liked her stepsister, and her hatred was never as intense as it was now. And, things were just fine until Cinderella went to that confounded ball and found her prince. Now Anastasia and Drizella had to take care of their château by themselves. It was Anastasia's task to get up at the crack of dawn to feed the chickens, gather the eggs, milk the cows, churn the butter, and bake the bread.  
It befell upon her to make breakfast every morning, and they hadn't eaten a decent breakfast in months. She was probably the most incompetent cook in the world. Every time she attempted to make bread, it would always come out burnt, doughy, or sour. And even when the bread came out halfway decent, it would mold within a few days, and she would have to start all over again.  
Everyone is luckier than me, she thought. Even Drizella got to sleep in later.   
God must have slept in late, too, the day He created her, she thought. Whenever she looked in the mirror, she saw her lanky, homely, and ungainly reflection, reminding her how much of a disadvantage she had when it came to courtship. It only made her insecurity worse when she watched the upstart Cinderella come from nowhere and snatch up Prince Charming at the ball.   
"That should have been my prince," she whined.  
How did Cinderella do that? Anastasia remembered that night, the night of the ball. She remembered how, when they departed the château, Anastasia and her sister had left Cinderella with nothing but a tattered dress. (Indeed, Anastasia still kept the dress' sash-the long, pink sash she had torn off Cinderella's garment that night-stuffed in the vanity drawer). She knew that when she tore that sash off Cinderella's dress, she rendered the dress worthless. But Cinderella hired new finery, a coach-and-four, and a driver and footman that night-in less time than it took to travel to the palace! Cinderella was penniless; how was that possible?   
Anastasia and Drizella asked their mother about it once, but Mother said nothing, and forbade them to bring the matter up again. Still, they thought whole event bizarre, not the least of which was Cinderella's footman barking and panting at the courtiers who passed by that night, and the four horses' penchant for eating brie and cheddar all evening.  
But one thing Mother did say she learned from the incident, was that it was Cinderella's beauty, and her beauty alone, that captured the prince's heart that night. Ever since, Mother became obsessed with her two daughters' appearance. What little extra money they had was spent on expensive makeup, clothes, and jewelry. Trouble was, neither Anastasia nor Drizella had a clue as to how to apply makeup properly. And Mother's taste in clothes was atrocious, even though the sisters always went along with whatever Mother chose for them.

The morning chores done. Great. Now it was time to return to her bedroom, slip off the work rags, and don her usual orchid-colored day dress with the purple bodice. With that completed, Anastasia went to the bedroom vanity she shared with Drizella, opened the drawer, and pulled out a teal-blue hair-ribbon from the menagerie of ribbons and bows in the drawer. The blue ribbon was entwined with some of the others, and when she pulled the ribbon out, the whole wad ended up on the floor. She shook her head and gathered up the mess, and then she saw at the bottom of the drawer an old, tattered pink piece of satin. It was the fragment of satin she tore off Cinderella's dress the night her stepsister prepared to accompany her and Drizella to the ball. Anastasia silently wondered why she hadn't finally thrown it away. Never mind. She stuffed it--along with the bundle of ribbons--back in the drawer, and closed it.   
Anastasia thought about what happened to Cinderella. Certainly, the tables had turned on the Tremaines, and they were now financially dependent on Cinderella. Cinderella had given them part of the dowry granted her by the King, but it was still never enough. They had only enough to repair the château, and to hire a part-time gardener and a coachman. There was no extra to pay for in-house help, and so when Cinderella moved out, Anastasia and Drizella abruptly had to learn housekeeping skills. Mother complained loudly about what she perceived as the King's stinginess, and swore that she would see their fortunes turn soon. She eagerly awaited the next ball at the palace, the next opportunity for her daughters to marry into wealth.  
Her mother was right, Anastasia thought. Marrying someone well connected was her ticket to riches and happiness. After all, it worked for mother, hadn't it? It worked for Cinderella, too.  
But she also knew that with Cinderella, there was something more than an attraction to royalty, or an interest in advancing her personal fortune. Anastasia remembered that morning after the ball, before the Grand Duke came to fit the girls with the glass slipper. She remembered that dreamy expression on Cinderella's face when Mother announced that the Prince was searching for his bride. Anastasia had never seen anything like it. It was as though Cinderella was in another world. Yes. Cinderella had just finished cleaning up the breakfast tray she had oddly dropped; Anastasia and Drizella hurriedly tossed Cinderella their clothes so she could get them ready for the Duke's arrival. Cinderella mumbled something about getting dressed, and then just handed the bundle of clothing right back to Anastasia!  
It was clear that Cinderella was deeply in love, and Anastasia had never seen her so happy as that morning after the ball. Sure, it would be nice to marry into royalty, Anastasia thought, but wouldn't it be so nice if she could be in love like that, too? In love with a prince. Or a duke. Or a baron. Or somebody.  
Among the numerous items scattered upon Anastasia's vanity sat a quaint little music box. While she daydreamed, Anastasia opened it. The music box played a pretty little waltz while two figurines, which resembled Cinderella dancing with her prince, whirled around upon it. Anastasia sighed, leaned over the vanity, and wondered if she, too, could ever find love like that.  
Her reverie was broken by a sudden yank at the hair-ribbon she held, as it dangled low under the vanity. A big black cat had decided it was of better use as his plaything, and was determined to wrest it away from its owner.  
"Lucifer!" Anastasia cried.  
Now, it was no easy task to win a tug-of-war with Lucifer, for the cat seemed to weigh a ton. During the ensuing struggle, Anastasia knocked over the music box with her elbow, and she gasped. She set it upright, relieved that it hadn't been damaged. Then, scowling at the mischievous cat, she snatched the ribbon away from him. Her victory, however, was short-lived.  
"Stop hogging the mirror!"  
It was Drizella. Anastasia's sister roughly pushed her off the vanity stool and onto the floor. Anastasia retaliated with a bump of her own, knocking Drizella off the chair, and Anastasia sat back down. Drizella noticed her sister beginning to tie the ribbon in her hair, and gasped.  
"That's mine!"  
"No! It's mine!"  
"No, mine!"  
"Hey, it's mine," Anastasia protested, as her sister grabbed the ribbon from her hands. Anastasia managed to catch the free end of it, and held fast. The two pulled with all their strength, until at last the fabric tore and the ribbon split in two.   
Drizella gazed at the useless half of the ribbon she held, then nonchalantly tossed it to her sister. "Oh, you're right. It is yours."  
Anastasia's eyes flashed. "You did that on purpose!"  
"Did not!"  
"Did too!"  
"Did not!"  
"Did too!"  
Another voice from inside the doorway interrupted their quarrel. "Girls!"  
They looked up. It was Mother-Lady Tremaine. Through the shadow of the doorway, the girls could see her steely eyes staring coldly at them. She stood practically six feet tall--taller yet in her high-heeled boots. She wore her usual dark trumpet-shaped skirt and high-boned collar, and pompadour hair style.  
Mother came in and shook an angry finger at them. "Stop all this bickering at once! Cinderella's ball is tomorrow night. So pay attention!"  
The girls immediately straightened up. When she noticed Lady Tremaine wasn't looking, Drizella turned to her sister next to her and spat raspberries. Anastasia returned in kind.  
"Every noble bachelor in the kingdom will be there," Lady Tremaine continued. "If you want to find a husband, you have to make the most of this opportunity. I won't let you fail me-" She turned, with her arms folded, and glared at her two daughters. "-again!"  
The sisters nodded obediently. "Yes, mother."  
"Drizella, pin back those curls! Anastasia, put more color in your cheeks! A perfect appearance is the only way to attract a proper gentleman."  
Anastasia found herself doing something to her face with a makeup brush. She didn't know what she was doing, nor did she care, so long as Mother was pleased.  
"We shall find you men of wealth, and nobility," Mother said.  
"Maybe a count," Anastasia said, excitedly. Countess Anastasia. That had a nice ring to it.  
"Or a duke," her sister agreed.  
"Precisely," their mother said. Anastasia thought she heard snickering coming from Lucifer's direction.  
"Come along now, we need new gowns for the both of you."  
"With new shoes," Anastasia said.  
"And jewelry," Drizella added.  
"The fancier, the better," Mother agreed. "Lucifer, come."  
Lucifer, who by now had curled up on the floor and was preparing to nap, roused from his slumber, and looked up briefly. He decided to ignore his mistress' order, and closed his eyes again.  
"Lucifer!"  
With a contemptuous groan, the black feline stretched and sauntered out behind them.  
No one in the household ever disobeyed a direct order from Lady Tremaine.

  



	2. Chapter 2

  
CHAPTER 2

  
One of the first to notice Anastasia's entrance into the market square was a noble maiden one year her senior; slender, petite though curvaceous, with full red lips and milk-white complexion. She stood five-two; her body fitted neatly into a flowing royal-blue spring dress, her dark brown curls gracefully protruded from her sun-bonnet, her white hands gently gripped the handle of her matching blue parasol, which shaded her sublimely pretty face from the midday sun. Her name was Augustina DuBois.  
Augustina's usual warm smile faded as she watched the Tremaine clan parade by, for her inclination to greet them cordially had been snuffed out long ago. Countless times, she recalled, she would happily approach them, only to be rebuffed by scornful stares from the mother, and upturned noses from the daughters.  
Often, when her father took her to the ballet or opera, Augustina would sit quietly in her family's private box, cool herself with her ostrich-feather fan, and glance over to the Tremaines' box. She saw that the Tremaine sisters would invariably spy on everyone with their opera glasses, and then point, giggle, and make fun of people. They would recline in their seats, prop their feet upon the seats in front of them, and indulge in snacks. And, if they were bored with the performance, they would amuse themselves by tossing objects into the orchestra below. Whenever they noticed Augustina looking over to them, they would make childish faces at her. In return, she did nothing more than look away, sigh, and silently wish the Tremaine girls would grow up soon.  
But the only contact Augustina ever had with the Tremaine girls were exchanges of insults. The best she could ever get from Anastasia was to be repeatedly called "fish lips." Hey, Fish Lips. How are you today, Fish Lips? Over and over again, for years.  
Augustina never had anything but contempt for Anastasia. However, there was one in the Tremaine household with whom Augustina had a good relationship with, even loved. At that time, Augustina knew the girl merely as Ella, the Tremaines' maidservant. Augustina became acquainted with Ella during trips to the market, for the maid was never permitted to parties with the nobility, nor to the ballet or opera. Officially, the maidservant was not permitted to speak at length with anyone at the market square, but over the years many people got to know her quite well. Despite her ragged appearance, everyone who knew her was impressed with Ella's sweet disposition, her grace, and her charm.  
Augustina didn't know why she was so interested in the lowly peasant maiden, but something drove her to find out more about her. One afternoon, Augustina had the good fortune to catch up with this mysterious girl.  
"Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle?"  
The mystery girl at first looked as though she was going to slink away, but then after a pause, she greeted Augustina with a natural, warm smile, and a pleasant "Good day."  
"I'd been meaning to introduce myself to you for the longest time. Would you join me for tea?" This was a serious breach in protocol, she knew, for nobility never invited servants to tea. Father might be furious. But why not? The girl had the grace and manners of a princess.  
Ella politely declined, explaining that there was no way her stepmother would allow her to anyone else's house, and besides--she still had to prepare supper for the family.   
"Did you say, 'stepmother?'"  
Augustina was shocked to learn that Ella and the Tremaines were related through marriage. In fact, some of what Ella said implied that she was of even higher birth than Lady Tremaine!  
Where was her father? Died several years ago. Cancer, probably. She didn't want to talk about it much.  
Did she eat supper with them? Oh, no, never. I eat in my very own room, up in the tower attic of my house. Bread and water, usually. If I'm lucky, I get cheese, too, which I share with my mice friends.  
Augustina was appalled. Surely the girl had more of an existence than merely being a slave to her family? Ella admitted that she did have a little bit of time for leisure, that she enjoyed sewing tiny clothes for her animal friends. And sometimes she would sneak a good storybook out of the parlor, and curl up with it in her bed before retiring.  
"You like reading?" Augustina asked, browsing her handbag. "Would you like to borrow this story? It's called _Beauty and the Beast_. It's about how a selfish, hideous-looking creature learns to love, and is therefore completely transformed--"  
Ella apologized for having to hurry home, but thanked Augustina for her offer, and she was gone.   
That was the first of many encounters with Cinderella. Augustina remembered how Cinderella always reminded her she was not permitted to speak to anyone at length. A pity, too, because she loved the girl. As far as Augustina was concerned, the Tremaines didn't deserve Cinderella to be their superior, let alone their maidservant. And she was sure there was nothing in the world that could ever change her mind about that, as she was sure Anastasia would never be anything but an ill-mannered, selfish brat. She knew that no one's perfect, but Augustina was convinced she was not evil as the Lady Tremaine and her two ghastly daughters.  
While she watched the Tremaines strut by, Augustina returned her thoughts to the present--and smiled at the poetic justice--that the girl that Prince Charming married was none other than the maidservant Cinderella.  
Augustina remembered that morning after the prince's ball. She and her younger brother Louis had just about finished with breakfast at half past nine when their father came into the dining room, with an odd look upon his face, and beckoned her to the parlor. She was astonished to find the Grand Duke standing there, waiting for her. She was equally astonished to learn that she was to try on a special slipper, in order for him to identify the mysterious maiden who had captivated the prince at the ball. Augustina refused at first, because she knew she was not that mysterious maiden. And that slipper! It looked as though it was made of Waterford crystal, and she had never _seen_--let alone _worn_--anything like it in her life. But the Duke reminded her that he was there upon the King's command, and that every maiden--without exception--was to try it on.  
She tried the slipper, and was relieved to see that it did not fit. To marry a prince would have been wonderful, but not under such false pretenses.  
But, oh! She would have given up her inheritance to get just one look at Anastasia and Drizella's faces when they saw that glass slipper fit Cinderella's foot perfectly. The only thing they--and their mother--cared about was to advance in rank through marriage. They were obsessed with it.   
Well, bully for them.  
Augustina knew she'd have another chance to see shocked expressions on the Tremaines' faces when they would learn Augustina was to marry the Count Charles D'Arqué in just two days. And the Count was one of the most powerful men in Europe! And to think Augustina had no idea whom he was when they met . . .  
She had met the Count three months before, at a banquet in her father's honor. Her father, the King's esteemed general Pierre DuBois, was a close friend of the French ambassador, whose son was in turn close friends with the Count, and thus the invitation. The new guest was a mystery to her; he was introduced to her merely as "Charles." But his wit and attention immediately captivated her. They found they had many common interests, and a profound understanding of each other, but he was stingy on details about his background. He seemed genuinely entranced with her, and was more interested in talking about her--her hopes and her dreams. She was flattered by his attention over the following weeks, and realized she was falling in love with him.  
Problem was, he was still a mystery. She did manage to find out he was twenty-six; that yes, he did come from France. But little else. What was he hiding? Finally, after three months of courting, she tearfully gave him an ultimatum: either tell her who he is, or leave her forever.  
He sat down, and, almost in tears, confessed his love for her. But he was afraid his high rank would frighten her away, and so he kept it a secret. He was really the Count Charles D'Arqué.  
Augustina gasped. She had always known her family was well off, but the Count's estate was worth a hundred times her father's! No wonder he kept his identity a secret.   
She knelt down, put her hands in his, and told him she loved him. She told him she loved him whether he was a king, or the lowliest indentured servant. Then and there, she promised to be his bride.

And so, Anastasia and Drizella's excursion into town brought an opportunity that Augustina relished for a long time. The moment she would tell them about her impending marriage would be just too precious. Should she tell them now?  
No, she thought. Be patient. Wait for the perfect time--the moment that would cause the greatest pain and humiliation possible.

Anastasia barely remembered the town square; it had been years since she was last there. In recent times she frequently traveled to town to attend the opera, ballet, or parties, but never to go to market. There was never a need for her to go to town for her clothes, as Cinderella had always served as the family's seamstress. But now that Cinderella was gone, the two sisters and their mother were forced to go to the shops for their clothing. Humiliating, Mother had said. And Anastasia had never shopped for fresh foods since Cinderella departed; that became Drizella's assignment. So, this trip to the square was a unique experience for the young redhead. She stared at everything, for everything looked so strange and fascinating.  
It had become customary for Anastasia to strut through town, holding her head high with her nose in the air. But today, for some reason, Anastasia felt very small. Silly, she thought, for she was all of five foot eight--taller than Cinderella--and comfortable in size twelve shoes. Drizella was taller yet, at five-nine and a half. And Mother was . . . well, no matter how high Anastasia wore her heels, Mother somehow always seemed to be taller than any of them.  
Perhaps Anastasia felt so small because she didn't eat yet today. Hunger was something she hadn't experienced in a long time, and going without breakfast seemed to be doing strange things to her psyche. But she supposed it was fitting punishment. After all, it was because of her lousy cooking that she missed breakfast.  
As she kept pace some fifty feet or so behind the rest of her family, Anastasia followed her mother and sister through the tower gate that led into the main square. She paused to look about.  
Off to the side of the street, she spotted a vendor's wagon with an odd assortment of wares. Useless trinkets, her mother would say about them. Still, Anastasia thought them worth at least a brief look, and walked over to the wagon.  
A plump, wise-looking woman tended to the wagon. She had long silver-white hair that was mostly covered by the hood of her light-blue frock. Anastasia thought she looked sort of like a monk from a monastery. The woman glanced at Anastasia briefly, and nodded her head. Anastasia felt like blurting out, "What are you looking at, old woman?" But, for some reason, the words didn't make it past her lips.  
"_Bon jour_, mademoiselle Anastasia."  
"Who are you? Have we met?"  
"I think you are confusing me with someone else you know. Sometimes people see my personality in other people. But, I've seen you before. Many times." She smiled to Anastasia again, and nodded. "Everything in the square all new to you?"  
"Yes."  
"But not your first time to the square, eh?" she asked.  
Anastasia shrugged. "No, but it's been a very long time."  
The older woman shook her head and laughed. "A lot can happen out here. Magical things. Miracles."  
_Oh, that's silly_, Anastasia thought. _Magical things happening among the peasants!_ She knew that wealth and beauty alone could bring "miracles." Still, she was not in the mood to argue with the lady, for she was fascinated by the glittering objects hanging from the rafters of the wagon.  
"They are beautiful, no?" the woman asked.  
"They're all right," Anastasia said, pretending not to be too interested.  
"One could be a great gift for you. Or your husband."  
Anastasia frowned. "I'm not married."  
"No, not yet. Well, let's say one could be a gift for your sweetheart, then. The one you will travel with to the ball."  
Anastasia was about to tell the vendor she didn't have a sweetheart, either, but she stopped herself. She was growing embarrassed, and hoped the woman didn't notice this. Truth was, Anastasia never had a sweetheart. Until then, she had long considered it beneath her dignity to speak to a man lower in rank than a baron. And, until then, most men deemed consorting with Anastasia as something rather to be endured than enjoyed.   
"You like this one, I see," the woman said, noticing Anastasia stare at one ornament in particular.   
"May I see it, please?"  
She stood up straight, stunned at what she just said. _Please? Did that word actually pass my lips? I'm a Tremaine! Tremaines don't have to say 'please' to common folk!_  
_What's happening to me?_ She shook her head. A typical response would have been, "Gimme that one!" Hunger must be starting to mess with her mind, she figured. She had to regain her haughty attitude. Mother would be very angry if she ever saw Anastasia soften.  
The vendor brought down the ornament, which was suspended by a looped black cord. The ornament appeared to be made of precious metal or crystal, and was shaped somewhat like a crucifix.   
"What is it?" Anastasia asked.  
"It's a wishing amulet. You don't worship it, but it serves to remind you who you are, and for you to focus on what you really want."  
She looked up to her, quizzically.  
"What is in your heart?" the older woman asked. "What do you really wish for?"  
Anastasia grasped the ornament with her hand. She ran the woman's question through her mind a dozen times. She didn't know what to say, and she quietly returned the object.  
"You do not know who you are yet, eh, Anastasia? But once you do, you will have your heart's deepest wish. All you need is to have faith. Faith in yourself . . ."   
The vendor paused to straighten an ornament above her head. "You know, we all create the world we live in. Do you know what I mean?"  
"You mean, you know how I can get rich? Find a rich man to marry?"  
"No, it has nothing to do with money. Rather, if all you have inside of you is hate and bitterness and anger, then that is the world you create for yourself. That will be the world you will have to live in. On the other hand, if what you have within yourself is peace and compassion and forgiveness, then that will be the world you create for yourself."  
"That's nothing but crazy talk," Anastasia scoffed. _This fool talks like Cinderella, and Cinderella was always crazy as a loon. And what kind of world did Cinderella create for herself with her attitude? She was nothing but a slave and a punching-bag for all of us. At least she was, until the night of that ball . . . and that was dumb luck, that's all._  
Anastasia's train of thought was broken when she felt a slight tug at her skirt. She looked down to behold an orphan girl, about six years of age. The little girl had flaming red hair, like Anastasia's, tied back under a ragged purple scarf. She had no shoes, and she wore a tattered purple dress. She looked up to Anastasia with sorrowful blue eyes.  
"Please, miss," the girl begged. "Please, would you spare me a crumb? I've not eaten since yesterday."  
Anastasia stared at the little orphan's audacity. "Get away from me, you little brat!"   
The little girl cowered, then retreated. For good measure, Anastasia picked up a clump of mud from the street and hurled it in the little girl's direction.  
Anastasia failed to see the cruel irony of shunning a girl who begged for a morsel to eat. But Anastasia held nothing but contempt for little girls. She especially hated rich blonde ones, but even poor redheads incurred her wrath. Indeed, Anastasia scorned just about everybody, and usually greeted everyone with tirades and insults.  
She turned back to the wagon, to ask the vendor how she knew her name, but the woman and the wagon had left. Anastasia shrugged and strutted off, to catch up with her mother and Drizella. As she made her way across the cobblestones of the square, she thought she heard someone behind her speak to her.  
"Remember the tradition," she heard the voice say over her shoulder. She turned around.  
It turned out it was merely Robert, the flower vendor of the square, talking to a young peasant couple cuddling close to one another, obviously in love. Unlike the woman with the wagon, Robert was at least a slightly familiar person to Anastasia. But, she figured, it had to have been at least a dozen years since she had last seen him.   
Robert handed the couple the flower garland they had just purchased. "Give these to each other at the ball, and you'll always be together." It was a wreath of wicker and vine, twisted into a heart shape--about a foot in diameter--and adorned with dozens of pastel lavender geraniums. Anastasia stared, wondering what on earth would attract peasant people to one another. And, if love came so easily for them, why had it been so elusive for Anastasia?   
When the young couple left, the flower vendor noticed Anastasia's stare. "What about you? Don't you need a garland of roses for the ball?" He held up another wreath, identical to the one he had just sold.  
Anastasia was incredulous. _Me? Need a garland for my true love? Yeah, right . . . true love. That'll be the day._  
Plus, she had an aversion to flowers, as most of them provoked her allergies. Still, her curiosity got the better of her, and she moved in for a closer look.  
Robert held the wreath out to her. "Guaranteed to win you his heart."  
Anastasia loved it. She had never seen anything like it. If only she could have one, and be like the couple she just saw, together and in love. She reached out to touch the garland and--  
"Anastasia! What are you doing?"  
Anastasia snapped out of her daydream. "Oh. Nothing. Coming, mother."

They spent only an hour at the couturier. The whole business of selecting a ball gown was both easy and dull for the sisters, as Mother decided on both the style and color of the clothes, as usual. Chartreuse for Drizella, magenta for Anastasia. Small poof sleeves, huge bustles, and short, ruffled overskirts. The same thing they had worn a thousand times over the last twelve years. Drizella seemed smugly content with her outfit, but Anastasia found herself unexcited. Why was that? Mother had always picked out their clothes, and, after all, she knew best, didn't she?  
After purchasing the dresses, they rolled the garments up into bundles, and the three made their way down the cobblestone street toward the jewelry shops. Anastasia hadn't noticed that she fell ever further behind her mother and sister. She was hungry, her mind was in a fog, and her thoughts drifted to food--especially fresh baked bread. Perfectly baked fresh bread. She could picture it, even smell it. No, there really _was_ a smell of baked bread in the air. Almost in a trance, she was drawn--almost involuntarily--to the origin of the scent.  
The odor came from a quaint little baker's shop, nestled within the houses along the street. Gentle plumes of smoke wafted from the open upper half of the door of the bakery.   
Still sniffing the air, Anastasia pushed open the lower half-door to the bakery, and entered the shop. The room was filled with baskets of fresh baguettes, French rolls, biscuits, pies, cakes, and pastries of all sorts. In the center of the shop sat a long table, upon which lay fresh eggs, open sacks of flour, several jars of milk and butter, tubes of pastry filling and cake frosting, a rolling pin, wooden spoons and mixing bowls, and a huge cutting board covered with sprinkles of flour. Gazing in wonder at the shop's wares, Anastasia absentmindedly turned around, and collided with another person in the shop. She turned around, ready to let loose with a tirade. But she stopped cold.  
To Anastasia, the room suddenly disappeared. The entire world disappeared. All Anastasia could see now was a face. And cute strawberry-blond hair. And a pair of sparkling blue eyes.  
The eyes belonged to the owner of the shop; a baker man a couple of years older than Anastasia. He was tall, but not overbearing; confident, but shy; his face emitted a spirit of great warmth and kindness. He wore standard calf-length work trousers and a plain green shirt, a traditional white baker's hat and apron, which had traces of dough streaked along the fringes. The young man sported a bit of a paunch, the side-effect of spending days on end around starchy foods. But overall, the image Anastasia beheld was that of a cute, humble, and sweet human being.  
He looked Anastasia straight into her eyes, blinked twice, then smiled sheepishly. Anastasia, never breaking her own gaze, hunched her shoulders coyly, and half-smiled in return. She felt overwhelmed by a strange but wonderful emotion she had never felt before. And the feeling seemed to go deep into her limbs.  
"Everything smells so good," was all she managed to say. Unlike her usual grating tone of voice, that one line came out in a soft, melodious cadence.  
"Would you like one?" the Baker said, offering her one of the fresh baguettes from the basket he carried. "Oh! Be careful, they're hot." He, too, had been captivated by sight of her, and he felt as though he were floating on air.  
Anastasia had completely forgotten her hunger. She picked out a single baguette from the basket merely to oblige this sweet guy's offer. Again, staring deeply into his eyes, she nodded. The freshly baked bread was not too hot at all--it was nicely warm, and it had a crispy, flaky golden-brown crust. And an aroma to die for. She sniffed the roll briefly, and prepared to take a bite . . .  
"Anastasia!"   
Before Anastasia could even react, the bread she held was abruptly snatched out of her hands. It was Mother, who, unknown to Anastasia, had sneaked into the shop.   
Mother glared at her. "I think not. Everything in this shop is . . . inferior."  
Sneering, Drizella inspected some of the rolls in the baskets by the shop window. "You can build a house with these bricks."   
"Come along, Anastasia," her mother ordered.  
Despondent, Anastasia followed her mother and sister back outside to the square. The Baker cocked his head, with a hurt expression on his face, but said nothing.   
"You're not to say a word to that . . . _shopkeeper_. I forbid it!"  
"Yes, mother," her daughter said, sullenly.  
And with that, Anastasia left, feeling like her day's sunshine had been snuffed out of her life forever.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

It was remarkable that none of the three women noticed yet one more young woman lurking near the bakery.  
Perhaps they hadn't noticed, because the other woman was all too familiar to them, and they merely ignored her. She wore a plain solid-blue knit work shirt, and over it a dark-brown vest, a lighter plain brown knee-length skirt, and upon that, a bright white apron with a slight tear up the center of the fabric. She tied her long, golden hair under a cream-white peasant's scarf, and upon her small, delicate feet she wore plain, black flats. Her clothing, though worn, was all impeccably clean, flattering an already exquisitely attractive face and form. The young lady sported lips of cherry red, a countenance of a delicate pink blush, and eyes of bright blue. Her gait was graceful as floating clouds, her demeanor was pleasant as spring sunshine, and her presence would brighten even the darkest room or the gloomiest day.   
Only one female in the entire kingdom could possibly fit this description. Cinderella.  
It had been a year and a half since Cinderella had left home, married Prince Charming, and became princess of the realm. In one stroke, her life had been transformed from that of indentured servitude to one of royal command. Whereas she had been at the whim and mercy of her stepmother and stepsisters, she had become ruler of a nation.  
One of several new roles she had assumed was that of hostess of royal festivals, banquets, and dances. And on this particular morning, she was preparing for her second grand ball since her wedding.   
Cinderella's suggestion of inviting commoners to the King's festivities initially shocked the royalty, but the events were such rousing successes, everyone took to the transition naturally. And now, nobleman and peasant alike felt welcome to her ball, and everyone in the kingdom was encouraged to attend.  
And yet, despite her newfound life of luxury and power, Cinderella never turned away from humility. She never thought it beneath her to occasionally slip out of the castle--disguised in plain clothes--and run ordinary errands among the common people. Indeed, she looked forward to mingling with some of her old friends in the village, and catching up on the latest news from the shopkeepers and farmers in town.  
This was such a day. Once she finished decorating the castle's grand ballroom, she was determined to go to the market to purchase the final touch: the traditional garland to present Prince Charming at the ball. To symbolize her everlasting devotion to him.  
_What a lovely day to go to the market square_, Cinderella thought, as she tied her scarf around her hair, and then hung her small wicker shopping basket from the crook of her arm. Indeed, it was a gorgeous day. She stepped from out of the hidden back entrance of her magnificent castle, and into the street.   
A pair of familiar bluebirds and a handful of mice, led by her mouse friends Jaq and Gus, came up to greet her. They all chattered at her, quizzically. She gestured to them that she wanted to leave the castle unseen. "Shh."  
Jaq was still curious. "Morning, Cinderelly! Why you dressed like that?"  
"I'm going to the market in disguise, so that no one will recognize me. I want to surprise the Prince with a garland of flowers. Want to come along?"   
The mice expressed their delight, and hopped into her basket, which she had set on the ground for them. She carried them into the village, and the bluebirds followed them overhead.  
She had just barely cleared the city gate when she overheard a familiar voice, coming from a young lady near the silk trader's cart.  
"Now a scarf for Charles," she heard the voice say, while she observed the young woman rummaging through the silks along the cart. "White or blue? Ah . . . I can't decide." It was Augustina.  
Cinderella stopped next to her. "Perhaps a maidservant could offer advice?"  
Augustina jumped, and stared. Then her eyes opened wide, and she smiled broadly. "Cinderella!"  
"Shh. Keep it down," Cinderella said with a smile. "I'm trying to do my shopping undercover."  
Still, Augustina had to stifle screams of joy while the two hugged each other excitedly. The sight of a wealthy maiden hugging a dishmaid elicited more than a couple of stares from onlookers, so the two pulled themselves aside to a more discreet location.  
"You look so beautiful now," Cinderella observed. "I haven't seen you in almost a year--"  
Augustina beamed. "I have news."   
"News?" Cinderella's eyes lit up. "No. You haven't!" Augustina's smile tipped Cinderella off. "You're married!"  
"Not yet. Day after tomorrow," Augustina said.  
"Oh . . . that is so--"  
They laughed and hugged again.  
"That is so wonderful!"  
"Now, we haven't made a formal announcement yet--"  
"I won't tell a soul," Cinderella promised. "Who is it?"  
"Charles D'Arqué--"  
"The Count of Prévoyant? Oh, Augustina! Augustina! He's--he's so great! He's so nice--"  
"You're going to be there, right? Now, don't say no. You're going to be there? Eleven o'clock, Saturday morning . . . will you--?"  
"I wouldn't dream of missing it. The Prince and I both will be there. Promise. Is the Count taking you to the ball?"  
"Yes! That's where we will make our announcement."  
"Oh, I am so happy for you!"  
"If only I could talk to you forever. But I must finish my errands before dark. And there is so much to do."   
"Yes, I must find a garland to give to the Prince tomorrow, and then I must get ready for the ball. Oh, you must join me for tea sometime!"   
"Yes. Yes. Of course I will!"  
Cinderella waved, then she turned and smiled cheerily after seeing her old friend. She was only a few shops away from the flower vendor, making her way down the street, but something caused her to pause and look into the window of the bakery. It was then that she witnessed the whole incident between Anastasia and the Baker. She watched quietly as her stepmother stormed in and hauled Anastasia away. Cinderella was amazed; for one she had never seen Anastasia in such a dream-like state, and secondly she had never seen Anastasia disregard any of Stepmother's rules, especially the one that fobade mingling with common people.  
After Mother dragged Anastasia away from the Baker, Cinderella looked back into the shop, at the Baker, who had a love-struck expression upon his face.   
"He's got that look," Cinderella observed. "And I know that look."  
Jaq looked up to her. "Seasick?" The mice doubled up with laughter.  
She frowned at them. "Oh, very funny. I think they're in love."  
"Anastasia's in love? That's crazy, Cinderelly!" Jaq said, while Gus made a gagging gesture.  
"Oh, come on, you two. Anyone can fall in love."  
Jaq was unimpressed. "Huh. Anyone but Anastasia."   
"Maybe she just needs some help."  
"Yeah, _lots_ of help!"  
"Well, _I_ had lots of help, too. Remember?"  
Yes, they remembered. How could they forget being turned into milk-white horses for half the night?  
Cinderella looked back at the Baker. "We have to figure out how to get them together again. I know! We'll lure them into the square. And here's how we'll do it . . ."   
She leaned over and whispered instructions to her small pals. The pair of bluebirds twittered in agreement. Gus giggled.  
"That's right, Gus. They'll never know what hit them."  
The birds took off quickly in Anastasia's direction, swooped down, snatched her bonnet from off her head, and carried it away.  
Anastasia was taken completely off-guard. "Hey!" She dropped her dress bundle onto the pavement, and pursued the thieves, unaware she was running back towards the bakery.  
Meanwhile, Cinderella helped the mice prepare to draw the Baker from inside his shop. "Okay, fellas, get his attention. And keep it simple."   
Jaq and his friends climbed up the leg of a table inside the shop, and made their way into some of the baskets of baguettes upon the table. The mice's actions were anything _but_ simple; they jumped, danced, and performed acrobatics. They did all they could to distract the Baker, but he continued to daydream while he worked. And no matter what they did, they were hardly loud enough; they were . . . well, quiet as mice.  
Cinderella just rolled her eyes. She then puckered and whistled, loud enough to get the Baker to turn around. He saw the mice in his basket.  
His eyes flashed. "Mice! In my baguettes!"  
The Baker grabbed a long loaf of bread, and batted wildly at the little creatures, who were already making their way out to the square. The mice ducked under a wagon, and scampered away. The Baker lost them in the shuffle, and he stayed outside in the square, in search of them.  
The mice continued to run, looking behind them for any sign of the Baker who chased them. But because they were not looking where they were running, they collided with a large, furry object.  
When Lady Tremaine and the girls got off their coach to shop at the square, Lucifer decided to continue the nap he attempted to take back at the château, under the carts in the square. But when his sleep was disturbed by the mice running into him, he was hardly upset. It had been months since Lucifer had seen his favorite hunting targets. This was a perfect opportunity to finally catch them. The mice beat a hasty retreat back to the bakery, with Lucifer in hot pursuit.  
At that same moment, Anastasia continued to run after the bluebirds, who were carrying away her bonnet. "Come back here!"  
The birds finally dropped her hat next to the Baker's horse, just a few feet away from the Baker, who, unknown to Anastasia, was still crouched down, looking for the mice. She scooped up the bonnet and shook her fist at the bluebirds.  
"Filthy creatures!" she said, and harrumphed. She donned her bonnet, and tied the bright red ribbon under her chin. Then she turned around, and found herself once again face-to-face with _him_.  
"Um . . . hi."  
Thoughts raced through her mind at lightning speed. Mother forbade her from speaking to the Baker. Maybe she'd best leave now. But Mother had also said it was impolite to ignore a greeting. Plus, Anastasia didn't exactly go back to the Baker on purpose. This was a chance meeting, right? She fought for words.  
"Hi, I'm Anastasia."  
"I'm Tom."  
"Um . . . your baguettes are wonderful."  
"Your mother doesn't think much of them," he shrugged, still smiling.  
Anastasia had a fleeting thought of challenging that opinion, but quickly blotted it out of her mind. She had never openly disagreed with her mother in her life. She just gave him a weak grin for a moment.  
"Do you like to bake, too?" he asked.  
Anastasia had always been a master at lying, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to lie to him. She bit her lip, and admitted that cooking and baking was something she was never good at, nor something she enjoyed doing.  
"But I appreciate good cooking and good food," she added quickly. Tom took that as a compliment, and thanked her.  
"And I play the flute, too," she said, hoping to impress him. Then she looked a little sheepish. "Well, sort of. Do you like Mozart?"  
"What's a Mozart?"  
Her expression dropped. "No, I guess you don't." That's okay, she thought, she never liked Mozart either. It's just that Mother always said that proper young ladies learn Mozart and all the other great composers. Were they really that great? Anastasia could never remember their names.  
Anastasia sighed. _He must think I'm a real loser, she thought. I'm ugly, I'm awkward, I can't cook, and nothing I say interests him.  
Wait a minute. If he doesn't know Mozart, doesn't that make him uncultured? Isn't Mother right, that he's inferior?_  
Anastasia looked at him again, and sighed. _But there's something about him. Does a man have to be refined and cultured in order to be considered attractive and romantic? Isn't there more to life than classical music, proper curtsies, French grammar, and débutante dances?_  
Tom, too, was thinking quickly. _I've never thought of asking anyone to a ball before. Then again, I've never seen anyone like her before. Oh, but look at her. The money I earn in a month couldn't buy the clothes she's wearing. But, I've got to try. This is my chance._  
He finally summoned enough courage to ask. "Anastasia . . ."  
She looked up to him, expectantly.  
"Would you come with me to the ball?"  
Anastasia's heart skipped a beat. "M-me? You really want to take me?"   
_With you, Tom, I'd fly to the moon and back_, she thought. _Why, yes, yes, of course I'll go with you to the ball!_  
She began to form her words. "Why, I would love--"  
Anastasia never had the chance to finish the phrase. Suddenly, four mice appeared from under the carts, rapidly pursued by her familiar black cat. The animals made their way under the Baker's horse, who, in a startle, whinnied and reared back, and prepared to kick at Lucifer. But the kick missed its target, and landed squarely on Anastasia's bustle. Her bustle acted as a giant spring, propelling her head-over-heels, screaming, through the open door to the bakery, and she landed with a crash among the tables filled with baking wares. Her bonnet and tiny satchel purse flew off her and landed at the back of the shop.  
She sat there for a moment, uninjured but gasping for breath.  
Tom ran into the shop, fearing she had been hurt, and feeling guilty that he had left his horse out in the square. He helped lift her to her feet. "Are you okay?"  
Anastasia looked down at her dress, and she knew she was _not_ okay. The mixtures from the tables, as well as the soot from the brick oven and the grime from the street, had rendered her entire dress a slimy, pathetic mess. Her arms were dripping milk and pastry jelly. The contents of two dozen fresh eggs had splattered all over her face, hair and clothing. Her hair, now soggy, lay limp over her forehead and covered her eyes.   
"Oh, no!" She covered her face with her hands, and, without another word, she ran out of the shop.  
As she ran, the dust from the street began to stick to the slime on her dress, and it looked like mud upon her. She came upon a part of the square where crowds of villagers blocked her way.  
One of them saw her. "Say, isn't that Anastasia Tremaine?"  
They agreed, it was. They remembered how she always treated everyone with such contempt. And now, everyone who saw her there could get back at her, and so they stood and laughed at her sudden misfortune. They laughed in the most derisive way possible. It was a sheer delight for them to see Awful Anastasia humiliated. As far as they were concerned, she richly deserved it.  
Anastasia stopped cold when she saw the laughing crowd before her. She abruptly turned to her left, and ran down the spiraling stone steps of a hidden arcade.  
Laughter seemed to echo behind her as she ran.  
The arcade ended at a small enclave, against the north wall of the castle. She could hear the trickling of a small fountain in the far corner. Part of the enclave was lit by the soft beams of the sun, but the shadow of Cinderella's great castle cast over Anastasia. As she looked up to the great castle turret towering over her, she heard the tower clock strike twelve.   
Twelve. The chime that signaled such a magical moment for Cinderella, Anastasia remembered. But this time, Anastasia figured it might as well be her own death knell.  
She stood there, alone. No one to help her. Not Mother, not Drizella, no one. Anastasia threw herself down before the fountain, crying inconsolably. And thoughts that never occurred to her before wafted through her mind like a torrent.   
_Why do dreams come true only for other people? Why never for me? Please God, help me. I wish my dreams would come true, too. Please. Help me._


	4. Chapter 4

BOOK TWO: "Anastasia, your name means _Resurrection_"

  
_Human beings suffer,  
they torture one another,  
they get hurt and get hard.  
No poem or play or song  
can fully right a wrong  
inflicted and endured . . ._  
  
-- Seamus Heaney, "Doubletake," from _The Cure at Troy_

CHAPTER 4

Why, indeed, would dreams not come true for Anastasia? Did "Awful Anastasia" even deserve a happy dream to come true?  
To look for an answer, we should go back and review Anastasia's life for a while.

Unlike Augustina, Anastasia's and Drizella's parents came from families of relatively modest means. Mother's family bore rank and title--the crest of Tremaine--but not particularly great wealth. The family was supported by a handful of tenants on the estate, but as time went on many tenants left to find work in the towns, and it became a struggle for the Tremaines to make ends meet. As the parents--Anastasia's grandparents--aged, Mother's two brothers were chosen to assume the estate, and she was to be married off to a local baron she had never met, so to bring in some badly needed income.   
However, just a fortnight before the prearranged wedding, she fell for a local shopkeeper--a merchant--and they ran off and married before her parents even realized what happened. Why she was so taken by this man was a mystery: he held no title, and he was neither rich nor particularly good-looking. Perhaps it was his smile, or his flaming-red hair, or his quiet disposition, but no one ever knew for sure.   
But the elopement was a scandal and a huge embarrassment to the family; her mother and father were outraged at Mother's disobedience, and because she failed her family in bringing them the fortune they felt they deserved. While she was never officially disowned, Mother was cut off financially and ostracized by her family for a very long time.  
Mother was never that good-looking either, but she was a relatively pleasant person, she had a decent education, and of course she was brought up learning the "proper graces" of polite society. Her running off with a commoner flew in the face of all she was taught. It was as though she had lost her mind, or, more likely, it marked a rebellion against the rigors of etiquette.   
The merchant Mother married was Anastasia's and Drizella's father. At first, the family just scraped by, and he spent long times away at sea. But he began to score some successes, enabling him to purchase his very own merchant ship, and within two years they were able to move to the biggest port town in the kingdom, and live in a quaint little cottage by the seashore. It was there that the fraternal twin girls were born.  
By the time she reached adulthood, Anastasia's memories of her father grew dim; they became merely fleeting shadows deep in her conscious. But what she did recall was that he was a pleasant and kindly gentleman, very devoted to his wife and daughters. One of her earliest memories--when she was about three--was of her father resting on the docks at sunset. He was standing, one foot on a stump, smoking his pipe, and gazing at the western horizon. When Anastasia looked up to him, he smiled down at her, tapped his pipe upon the stump to empty its embers, and then he picked up the little girl and cradled her in his arms, to share the sunset with her. He often referred to her as "my little Paulette" (after her middle name, Pauline).  
She vaguely remembered how her father would usually greet her and Drizella after he'd finished shaving in the morning. He'd mop his face, toss the towel over his shoulder and say, "Mmm. Chocolate and strawberry, my favorites!," alluding to their hair color. Then he would chase after them, as he pantomimed eating their hair with a fork, and the girls would giggle and scatter.  
If one had seen them only as the snobbish and ridiculously-dressed teenagers of later years, one would hardly recognize them in their youth. The girls were hardly wealthy in those days, but they always looked well cared-for. At the time, Drizella wore a lush royal-blue dress and Anastasia would invariably wear a pretty yellow dress; they tied their long, straight hair in ponytails with wide matching bows. And they were bright and beautiful children, with shining eyes full of life and curiosity.   
One thing Anastasia was curious about was her name. She was not sure if she liked it, and she asked her father about it. She told him that "Anastasia" sounded more like a name for a disease or something about the weather, than a name for a girl.  
Her father laughed heartily. "Do you know what your name means?"  
She hadn't a clue, and she shook her head.  
"Well, 'Anastasia' is the term that refers to the Resurrection of Our Savior on Easter Day. 'Ana' means 'up again,' and 'Stasia' means 'to stand.' He stood back up--came back to life--that Easter morning. And you, Anastasia, will always stand tall, no matter how tough life gets for you. Maybe there will come a time someday when you'll feel defeated; that you'll think you cannot carry on. But if you just have faith, you will stand up again and you will have new life . . . you will be resurrected, too."  
  
Anastasia's father worked diligently to support the four of them. Still, Mother pushed him along, seemingly hoping that if he improved his income and status, her family would be more willing to accept him--and their marriage.  
Before long, their father had built a merchant fleet large enough, that he was no longer needed to sail. His work hours grew shorter, so he was able to spend much more time with his wife and girls. Anastasia and Drizella knew when he had struck a new success; he would strut across the docks humming a jovial tune. Then, when he reached the cottage he would grab Mother, and start dancing with her, and they would dance and laugh. Then he would chase the girls all around the outside of the cottage, and when he finally caught them, he would give them his latest surprise. Licorice candy, perhaps. Or honeyed tarts. Or tangerines--a rare treat in those days. Once in a while, he would bring home amazing things. Nothing was particularly expensive, but everything was unique and fascinating.  
Then, on the girls' fifth birthday, Father came in with an armful of packages and a wide grin on his face. The girls could hardly believe it. Packaged gifts, for them? And not just a single gift to share with each other--as had been the norm--but _four_ to divide amongst themselves! Mother and Father stood together, and beamed as they watched the girls jump excitedly.  
The girls unwrapped the first two. They gasped, for they had never seen anything like them before. Two handmade, hand-painted porcelain dolls. From China. They had never seen one, only heard about them. Up until that time, the only toys they ever owned were two beat-up stuffed dolls that Mother had sewn together using spare materials (and at the time Mother was mediocre at sewing, at best).  
They carefully unwrapped the other two gifts. One, for Drizella, was a beautiful little songbook from Vienna. The other, for Anastasia, was a flute, handcrafted by one of the finest woodwind makers in the world. The children were delighted, because they knew mother and father had seen that Drizella had shown an interest in singing, and that Anastasia would pick up hollow reeds and imitate playing the flute. Now they had the real items to work with.  
Father smiled broadly. "Now you girls will be real musicians."  
"Don't be silly, daddy, I can't read a note!" Drizella laughed.  
"Well, I suppose music lessons are in order, then."   
Mother was agape. "Music lessons! Can we afford them?"  
"Things are going to be different, from now on. We've eight shiny new ships, and they are headed for a rich port in Madagascar! We're going to live like king and queen and princesses in a castle!"  
"You hear that, Anastasia?" Drizella exclaimed. "We're going to be princesses!" She sang a nonsense tune while dancing in a circle with her sister, who in turn played squawky random notes on her instrument, and they all laughed together.   
It was the last time Mother ever laughed.  
  
Over the ensuing days, the children grew excited with anticipation. They sensed their father's eagerness to receive word from his merchant fleet, and his own excitement increased with each passing day.  
"And we'll be going to school, too! Maybe even the _Lycée de Saint Antoine_, eh? The best school in the kingdom! And we'll be great at music, and art, and dance and . . . and everything, won't we?"  
School! Wouldn't it be just spectacular? They'd finally be able to play with children their own age. And the _Lycée de Saint Antoine de Padua_ was the finest grammar school in the kingdom. Only the richest and noblest children went there. But now with their newfound riches, the girls would be able to attend, and fit right in. Anastasia and Drizella would invite all the children in town--rich and poor alike--over to their big new house, and share all their neat new toys with them. And, if by chance a poor little girl was without a toy, why, they would be more than happy to give her one of theirs. 

Daddy was late coming home for dinner. They assumed that could only mean good news; that he was having trouble hauling all the incredible new merchandise to the house.   
The two girls watched at the front window for hours. Finally, with nightfall approaching, they saw his silhouette against the sea as he slowly approached the house. He looked very tired and dispirited.  
He stumbled inside, and stood at the door, ashen-faced.  
Mother was alarmed. "What is it? What is wrong?"  
He stood there for a moment, then he wiped his brow. "I just got a message from Madagascar. There was a pirate attack . . . a huge fleet broke into the port, and plundered all of our storehouses. And the port and all my ships--all burned to the ground."   
"They burned _everything_? Wasn't anything saved--?"  
"Nothing survived. We're ruined."  
"How will we eat? How will we live?" Mother exclaimed.  
"I don't know. I'm sorry. We'll get by somehow. I'll start over."  
Mother was dumbstruck. She sat down, and rubbed her head with her hands.  
But Anastasia was worried about how Father looked. He looked different; he looked weak and pale. She watched him as he went to town with all the money they had in the house, in order to pay off his debts. He returned looking exhausted. Then, when they quietly began to eat supper, he abruptly stood up. "I need to lie down."  
He took two steps, and then, clutching his chest with one hand, he collapsed.  
"Daddy!"  
They all managed to help him up, and half-carried him to his bed. Mother nervously ordered the children to bring some cool water and a towel.  
"What is it?"  
"It's my heart. I--"  
"You need rest. I'll get a doctor."  
He panted. "There's no money for a doctor."  
With no doctor to tend to him, the best the family could do was wait and pray for Father's recovery. Mother stood watch at the foot of the bed, silent. The only thing she said that night was a barely audible whisper: "If only we had money. If only . . ."

Finally, around midnight, he awoke with a start, breathing heavily. His face was ghost-white. He beckoned for the girls. Anastasia ran to the right side of his bed, Drizella on the other side, and they held his hands.   
"My princesses . . ."  
"Yes, daddy?"  
"I want you to have something. In case I don't make it--"  
"Don't talk like that, daddy!"  
He went on. "In case I don't make it, there are two things I want you girls to have." He reached to a small wooden box on the table next to the bed, and pulled out two shiny objects. One was a bright silver necklace with an elegant ivory brooch. The other was a small, round pin--solid gold--with a Maltese cross engraved upon the front.  
"These are yours," he said. "They have been in the family for generations, and now you are to have them. The necklace is for you, Drizella, and the pin is yours, Anastasia."  
The girls didn't know what to say. They gazed upon the valuables momentarily, then back to their father, who was gasping for breath, and apologizing for his poor health.  
He was barely able to speak. "I-I'm so sorry. I love you," he said to all three. The two girls caressed his hands gently. He leaned back on the pillow, and closed his eyes.  
Then he breathed his last.  
Anastasia remembered how she and Drizella knelt there, burying their faces in his hands, and crying uncontrollably. "Daddy, don't leave me!" they said, again and again.  
"Daddy, don't leave me!"  
Anastasia looked up, blinded by tears, expecting to see her mother collapse in tears herself. But Mother didn't move. She stood like cold stone, and stared at the wall for hours, as if in a trance. She didn't move or make a sound until dawn, when she silently left the house.  
She would never again be the same.   
For the next several weeks, Mother spoke only when absolutely necessary. And from that point on, she seldom showed emotion: she never cried or laughed, and she rarely raised her voice or smiled. Mother would never touch anyone (not affectionately, anyway), or allow anyone to touch her.

The undertakers came after a short while, and Mother quietly made the funeral arrangements. Because there was no money, Mother sold off much of her silk and furs to pay for the modest burial, which would take place in a remote part of a churchyard overlooking the King's castle, many miles away--which was all they could afford.   
The burial was a lonely, harrowing affair. It was just the three of them, a single bored priest, the two dirty gravediggers, and the cold wind and drizzle. Anastasia and Drizella instinctively held each other as they watched the wooden casket being lowered into the earth. The priest sprinkled holy water upon it, as he mumbled a blessing.   
_"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti . . ."_


End file.
